


no-one's going to miss you like i already do.

by indecisive_scribophile



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Laith, Langst, M/M, Romance, garrison au where it's a normal high school and everything is fine, keith/lance is the main ship here and adam/shiro are a background ship, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisive_scribophile/pseuds/indecisive_scribophile
Summary: Lance McClain, you are my everything. You make me feel loved. You make me feel like I’m worth something. But the thing is, I told myself that I wouldn’t ever let someone else be the final piece of me—because I shouldn’t have to rely on someone else to complete me.I have made a mistake in loving you. I have made a mistake in letting you love me. Because I took you for granted, and it was only when you were no longer a part of my life did I realise how much of myself I tied to you.





	no-one's going to miss you like i already do.

_when raindrops fell_  
_down from the sky_  
 _the day you left me_  
 _an angel cried_

\+ + +

The day he left me, I felt nothing.

It happened on a park bench. The last words he spoke were punctuated by a long silence. His speech felt practiced and rehearsed as if he’d stood in front of a mirror for weeks, repeating it over and over again like a mantra to convince himself to finally do it. But though his words were short and sweet, his hands trembled as he fidgeted with them in the lap of his now soaked-through jeans. That slight tremor in his hands continued even as he reached into his bag after bending down to pick up his bag. He left his hand in the bag for a split second – a sick imitation of a hesitation – before pulling it out to reveal a folded umbrella in his grasp. It was one of those cheap ones you’d buy from a dollar store in an emergency, and it was blue, like his eyes, but not nearly as vibrant.

He quietly cleared his throat before twisting his wrist to slowly point it at me. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was giving it to me. When I took it from him, he zipped up his bag and stood up. He left a silhouette of his upright body on the bench, the wood darker around it from the rain. I looked up at his departing figure in hopes of a glimpse at his face, but all I saw was his brown hair stick to the back of his neck as he walked away. His strides were slow so as to not give off the impression of haste. I watched him get further and further away from me until he followed the bend in the footpath to take his to the bus stop and out of my line of sight.

My brain had not yet comprehended the gravity of the situation. It happened so quickly, yet our movements were slow and each second felt like a minute. So, I sat there, sitting in the rain, watching the dry wooden silhouette of his body darken as it succumbed to the wrath of the sky’s tears. My gaze unfocused to the point where I could no longer see the tiny ridges in the wood.

Time was nebulous, and eventually, little bumps began to appear on my arms and thighs. The only reason why I noticed was because of a strong gust of wind that I’d failed to notice before. When the cold hit me, I pushed it to the back of my mind as I stood up and opened the umbrella. I rested it on my right shoulder and the rain stopped hitting my skin. It should have felt like heaven, but it didn’t. I’d gotten so used to the rain that I could no longer differentiate between water and sunlight.

I started the walk home. My drenched clothes weighed me down and the lack of company made the trip feel longer than it actually was. The sound of the rain hitting the flimsy umbrella was somewhat pleasing, so I concentrated my thoughts on that until I entered my apartment complex and was sheltered by a roof instead of some cheap plastic.

As soon as I entered the apartment I heard faint laughter coming from the kitchen. The smell of pasta sauce with too much tomato in it enveloped me, and to no surprise I saw Shiro and Adam standing at the stove with flushed cheeks and lazy smiles directed at no-one but each other. When Shiro’s eyes landed on me, his smile immediately died down and turned into a frown.

“Keith! You’re a little late today. Did something happen at school? Why’re you wet?” he asked seemingly all in the same breath. His gaze trailed down to the half-closed umbrella in my hand. “Especially if you have an umbrella?”

Telling him the truth felt wrong. Not this early. So, I lied and felt no remorse.

“Oh, the rain picked up a lot before I had time to pull this out.” I waggled my umbrella at the two to get rainwater on them. They were more annoyed at the stove fire possibly going out than the fact that they were wet, evident in their faux annoyed protests of “Keith, cut it out!” after shielding the pot of sauce.

“Well, go take a shower. You don’t want to catch a cold, do you?” Shiro looked up at the clock on the wall. “Dinner’ll be ready in ten. If you’re quick enough, there’ll be some pasta leftover for you,” he joked.

“I made sure it’s edible this time!” Adam quickly called out as I walked away. A faint “ow!” escaped from him as I shook my head with a small smile, leaving the umbrella on the kitchen table.

Peeling off my soaked-through clothes away from my body was more satisfying than a relief. Stepping into the warm shower was no different to sky pelting cold raindrops on my face. I lazily lathered soap on my body and did nothing to my hair. My energy was drained. The shower water didn’t replenish any of it, but it helped me feel my fingertips again.

As promised, there was pasta waiting for me when I walked up to the kitchen table in my sweatpants and hoodie. I flung my blue towel over an empty barstool and sat down at the table next to Adam. He and Shiro had already opted to sit side-by-side, the edges of their knees touching.

“So,” Shiro began with a mouthful of pasta, “how’d your day go?”

I scooped some pasta onto my plate. “Alright.”

“That’s good,” Adam replied for him. His plate was already licked clean. “Any of your teachers give you a hard time?”

“Not really. I actually handed in my work on time, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said monotonously as I covered my pasta with sauce.

“That essay, right? The one on…”

“Selfishness,” I finished when Adam’s voice trailed off. “Yeah, that one.”

“It was good,” Shiro reassured me. “You should get a good grade on it.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “It’s about as good as an essay I wrote last night can get. When’d you read it?”

“You, uh…left it on the table this morning so I skimmed over it when you weren’t looking,” he admitted with a coy grin. I rolled my eyes. That sounded about right. “Hey, I didn’t touch it or anything, so it’s not like I did anything wrong!”

Adam elbowed Shiro’s thigh, prompting a strained groan from him. He glared at Shiro through his glasses. “What if that was a private matter? Sounds like an invasion of privacy to me.”

“I’m sure it’s not private if he left it on the kitchen table. If it’s private, it’s in his room, and if it’s in his room, it’s private,” Shiro argued with another forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. “By that definition, if it was on the table…and not in his room…”

“Alright, I get it,” Adam groaned.

We ate in relative silence for the next few minutes. I was right—the pasta sauce really did have too much tomato in it. But I couldn’t criticise Adam’s cooking because at least it was edible. Shiro’s wasn’t unless he was under Adam’s strict supervision, and even then he would explode whatever microwavable porridge he’d been allowed to make.

 They say that the longer you avoid something, the more it festers at the back of your mind. But honestly, I felt nothing. As Shiro and Adam teasingly bickered with each other, occasionally dragging me into the conversation, I felt empty in the most neutral way possible. It was almost like nothing had happened, as if I hadn’t watched him walk away in the pouring rain with my own two hollow eyes. I felt like I could still pick up my phone and dial his number, asking to talk at three a.m. when my thoughts were sky-high but mood was at a low. His smile, his eyes, his voice, his laugh: all of it was so real. His words weren’t what lingered in my head—it was just _him_. Only the thought of him existed. His words didn’t.

I dumped my plate into the sink and headed into my bedroom wordlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! long time no talk. i hope everyone enjoyed reading some angst! it's been a while since i've written something that's not school-related, so i'm a bit rusty. but i'm kind of back now, so revel in this while you can! honestly, this is probably going to be one of my endless Part Ones on my account and may never be touched again, but i really do hope to continue it because it means a lot to me. 
> 
> the opening quote is the lyrics to ariana grande's intro track 'raindrops (an angel cried)' on her new album, 'sweetener'! i don't own those.
> 
> see you around! <3


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